


Having a Cheat Code for Life won't Make you Happy if you Put it in Wrong

by Cheshirerising



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Empath!Kokichi, Explicit noncon sex scenes, Fuck you he's magic now, Gen, Headcanon-heavy, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It's Oumota but not as we know it, M/M, Mastermind and One Main Character are dead for sure, Non-detailed depictions of child abuse and neglect, Ouma not Oma, everyone lives au, post-killing game, pregame Kokichi, spoilers for the whole game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshirerising/pseuds/Cheshirerising
Summary: Pink is the colour of lies in this killing game, but it always had been for Kokichi - is it even possible to win a game that's dyed the same shades of lies he has always hidden behind?





	1. Synaesthesia

**Author's Note:**

> (Wrote this in one fell swoop after much support from my favourite Discord chat group, and thanks to all there for this being up. Any mistakes will be fixed as this was also written while sleep-deprived; apologies in advance! I had on Kuraiinu's cover of Liar Dance by Deco*27 on loop as writing so if you want any extra ambience it's a good backing noise.)

**_synaesthesia_ ** _syn·es·the·sia (sĭn'ĭs-thē'zhə):_

_noun:_

_A condition in which one type of stimulation evokes the sensation of another, as when the hearing of a sound produces the visualization of a colour._

_A sensation felt in one part of the body as a result of stimulus that is applied to another, as in referred pain._

 

It was playing life on easy mode, or so he’d always believed. Either that, or everyone else had decided to take the hard route in everything just to make their own lives more interesting. Sometimes it was easy to laugh at the webs others weaved around themselves or others because they were so, so effortless to cut through with a single sentence and he could watch the desperate flailing to collect all their lies before it all collapsed in on them. His fellow students, the teachers, even therapists were all the same in that regard.

He’d walk away laughing on the outside every time it happened. It was simply too easy, a mercy, even, to expose everyone else so everyone was on the same footing that he was.

Classrooms had always been nothing more than a place to people-watch and collect everything he needed to continue to breeze through the daytime of life. In-class quizzes only took a modicum of effort if the teacher was reading out the answers, so he only put in that much. Entry-level ‘friendships’ had been even easier, considering everyone else decided to either not see each other’s lies and platitudes, or simply chose to ignore them for the sake of a simple boring life. At first it had been easier, at least.

_(Of course, going home was an entirely different lie that he didn’t care to think about, it was easier to drift along in simple boredom until something or someone caught his attention.)_

Kokichi Ouma had been raised to be truthful and kind by parents he now knew had never been either. Granted, he hadn’t realised this until he started paying attention to the colour of their words in comparison to other parents. He hadn’t considered the concept until at age nine his mother started turning the air more and more pink with every conversation with his father about why she was late from work more and more often.

He hadn’t become suspicious until his father started spouting the same fuchsia words six months later as he’d leave their only child alone in the apartment for days with just enough money for grocery shopping, always making the same salmon-tinged excuses that his mother did. He hadn’t tread the waters of testing the lie until the teachers at school started taking him aside to make comments about how he was looking so much thinner these days and was he sure his parents were feeding him properly? (At least the teachers were honest with their blue-green concern, but that wasn’t something he’d seen all that often lately and was hard to recognise.)

Kokichi Ouma hadn’t realised the mistake he’d made in cutting through the webs of lies until two years after the air first started turning pink and his father was looking more and more suspiciously at them both.

He hadn’t been entirely certain until he felt his own mother’s hands around his throat after the seventh week that dad hadn’t come home.

The embrace she’d given him afterwards as he laid limply in her shaking arms was too entirely too long and too tight and quiet in comparison to the screaming from moments before that he was the one at fault for destroying their family, for not going along with the lie that everything was fine. (Years on from that night and he could still see the crescents from her once well-manicured nails in his neck, was instantly nauseated at the slightest smell of the same brand of beer, felt uncontrollable shivers any time someone was far too close to him physically.) That night, between her desperate pleas of ‘don’t leave me too’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ and ‘please don’t tell anyone I didn’t mean it I’ll always protect you’ and blurry vision he could still tell that everything she said was entirely the wrong side of pink.

He was honestly surprised that he’d never realised that nobody else could see what he could before – the colours of lies and truth mixing in the air and spilling out carelessly from often rose-tinted lips. It was a revelation – people weren’t _choosing_ to ignore each other’s lies, they couldn’t see them! Even the easy ones! Even the ones that were the most obvious! (And of course, what were the right and wrong answers in tests but the truths and lies of each question? What was the crux of each mandatory therapy section but a pointless bundle of empty platitudes and more lies?)

It had become easier once the realisation had come, on the first day of the first year of high school, of how to construct his own lies from the failings of those around him. The smaller ones stopped raising eyebrows when he’d perfected the way to tell them. ( _Don’t worry I brought my own lunch today I’ll be right behind you oh sure I always look this tired ahaha yes mom I’ll be okay at home this week I’ll see you soon I love you oh of course I’m taking the right doses of everything would I lie to my favourite counsellor?)_ Sometimes he could almost taste the hesitation people swallowed down before accepting his lies, everyone involved knowing it was easier to play along.

The people who hesitated for more than a second were the ones he came to like least. They would be uncommon, but smarter than the average, picking apart the simpler walls of pink until they came to another layer, and another, and more and more extravagantly-built fictions until they had to give up. The ones who still persisted were cut down in an instant with a well-placed verbal jab or five until they could do nothing but stare at him with a barely-disguised nausea he’d come to feel comfortable with on the faces of others when they looked at him.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact point Kokichi knew that he’d started wearing the lies like a beautifully made set of armour. It had started to matter less and less as the first year of high school had dragged by in a pink-tinged haze of nothing but empty promises from his mother, his teachers, the people in class and beyond. The second crawled by even slower as he spent less and less time at home, and at school more and more time dodging whatever bullies that had decided the underfed, pale, messy-haired short boy who was quick with his words and not quick enough to run away from the inevitable tripping and shoves in the corridor was the next class scapegoat.

Lies as armour, it turned out, was just as useless against physical violence as his honesty had been back when he was eleven. It was funny, he’d thought, after goading the latest group into hitting him in the face hard enough he could use it as blackmail against them; that even with being able to see people’s intentions all laid out in their many colours, it was always hard to work out whether it was the lies or the truth that would get them to do what he wanted them to do.

Sometimes it was a mix of both that he’d have to wield in duality to break through and trip them up, although it took some figuring out before he could be sure more often than not. ( _“You guys know he’s only getting you all to do this because when he first saw me he thought I was a girl and planning on hitting on me right? You didn’t work it out until I spoke because you’re simply that blind, right?” He’d fixed his current target with a grin that could only be read as ‘somewhat unhinged’ before continuing to push the knife in. “I am right aren’t I? And then even after you knew I was a boy you still thought about it didn’t you? Don’t worry! You don’t have to be asha-” The next punch was finally from the ringleader he’d successfully baited, and that told everyone what the truth was. Even the feeling of blood pooling in his mouth and the ache of bruises-to-come was not enough to smother the sheer elation of the one split second he knew he had the other boy by the metaphorical balls. He’d simply laughed around the coughing fits as the group wandered off awkwardly after their fleeing leader.)_

The main group of boys hadn’t done anything else after that simple incident that had ended in a bungled suicide and long hospital stay for its ringleader. (Who knew someone could be so insecure about who they were thought to be attracted to?) It hadn’t stopped the snickers behind his back, the tripping between classes, the shoe locker commonly stuffed with garbage or the words often scrawled onto his desk, but he’d deal with those as they each came; and he did one by one. By the end of year two the teachers had stopped asking him to commit to group projects, utterly defeated by the malicious innocence that radiated from this undersized teenager and the way the class kept him at arm’s length when they acknowledged his presence at all.

 

The summer that followed that year was going to be the simplest yet, because he’d almost come to believe his own words that everything was going great, that his home life was fine, and it ended the moment he’d been walking home alone far too late at night for someone his size and he’d been too slow to notice that the car (not pink as he’d come to remember it later, but a simple unnoticeable black car that didn’t look out of place in the suburbs) had been following him for at least twenty minutes. He was even slower to try to fight off the imposingly-large men in a strange mix of tailored suits and balaclavas who ended up dragging him into the back of the car before he could scream for help. Everything was painfully pink from that point as they told him to calm down, that he’d asked for this, everything was perfectly fine don’t worry Mister Ouma and them knowing his name was the quick blue burst of truth that shocked him enough to stop struggling for them to jab him in the arm with a needle produced seemingly from nowhere.

The first time he woke up, lying prone in what was probably a classroom and draped in clothes he both recognised and didn’t at the same time, Kokichi’s heart stopped. For the first time in years he didn’t know what was going on but was equally certain that he couldn’t stop any of it. Rubbing his eyes and blinking enough to bring tears did nothing to help shift it. Dragging himself to the door and looking outside only cemented everything he’d already suspected. Falling back to his knees after a second to clutch at his neck through the scarf that he was only half-certain was his he held back bile with quickening breaths. This whole place, if it was the same, was impossible. It wasn’t right.  People told lies, people were the ones who created that horrible shade of pink that nauseated him when he saw it, so what was this?

_What was THIS?_

Ignoring the faint noises from the classroom lockers that told him some other poor fool was in the same predicament as he was, Kokichi steadied himself, grinning mask in metaphorical hand ready to go back in place when needed, and he knew it would be.

It wasn’t possible and yet here he was, trapped in an even bigger and more intricate lie than he could ever have created, one big enough to surpass spoken words and written ones combined.

 One so big it was able to dye every wall and floor, every desk and chair in the place in a pink bright enough to burn his eyes.

It was painful.

It was nauseating.

It was hellish.

It was where he belonged.

 

_“If you’re planning to expose a liar, then you have to corner them psychologically…only then will they reveal their true self as a liar, hiding under layers of deceit.” Kokichi Ouma_

 


	2. Colourblindness Would be a Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Post-game, Soundtrack for this snippet is Rachie's cover of another Deco*27 song, Ghost Rule https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWC35v2XWHg)
> 
> "I did it all on purpose.” It’s the sheer flatness of those last few words that damns him. It’s harder for him to stop real tears than create fake ones and he hates himself for the single one that escapes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of these snippets are going to be out of order but all take place in the same timeline of Danganronpa being a television show that doesn't actually kill anyone but removes that memory along with the memories of who each of the 'contestants' really are. Everyone was pulled out just before their actual deaths, executions are staged, and Kokichi almost actually died due to fucking with the game so much. I didn't intend any shipping but it happened a little.  
> And thanks for everyone who's been reading and bookmarking, and hope you enjoy!

As soon as the nurse leaves his room without so much as a backward glance, clouded in a beautiful shade of disgust-yellow; Kokichi hears a much clearer sound of the person that had obviously listening in to his conversation (if you could have called it that) with her.

There’s a single knock at the door before the second to last person he would have expected to visit his hospital room enters. Kaito Momota at least has the decency to look ashamed of his nosy behaviour for once.

“Yo, I didn’t mean to overhear, man, bu-”

“Oh, _hey,_ it’s my favourite chess piece! I was wondering when you were going to grace me with your awful voice in person!” Kokichi cuts him off before the first sentence is out of Kai-(No, it’s Momota now, they don’t know each other and never did despite what happened in the Killing Game)-to’s mouth. The usual grin is back in place, although his mouth already hurts from pushing it up again so quickly. He feels Momota’s eyes flick over him, over the bandages and bruises still clear outside of them, the IV drip still attached because Kokichi still refuses to eat even days after the nurses have made it clear they’re not intending to drug him without permission. He spots the flicker of colour around the former Ultimate Astronaut start to change and decided to head it off before it knows where it’ll go.

He cocks his head to the side, all painful innocence as Momota pulls up the seat next to the bed uninvited and slumps into it.

“So I gu-”

“Nope!” He cheers, wagging a finger at Momota playfully. “You don’t get to talk this time around, last time I spent this long in the same room as you, you’d already killed me – which I can now say was a _goddamn mercy_ in comparison to what you probably put all the other idiots through in the trial, am I right? Aaaaand I’m guessing that my beautiful Saihara saw enough of the clues I left him to end the game? Oh!” Kokichi pushes himself bolt upright despite how it pulls on the stitches in his chest and back to give Momota a look of sheer childish glee. “How was your execution? Did you get to see it after all? Y’know, since the game masters would have pulled you out and stuck the decoy corpse in waaay before it started! Was it cool?”

Momota pulls in a breath, clearly trying to start the conversation he intended but Kokichi doesn’t give him any more chance than that.

“I bet it was space-themed! Y’know, I always wondered what mine would have been but since someone here already saw that I wouldn’t live long enough to actually kill someone, I guess I’ll never know,” He sighs more dramatically than usual and pulls out the waterworks easily, not even caring that even fake tears only make him look more pathetic. “ _Why would you do that?_ I-I never did aaaanything to you and you kill me like that, huh? Why woul-”

“Oh, you know fucking _damn well why_ you little shit, playing those old tricks isn’t going to work anymore!” Momota’s switched from the verge of pity to full-on irritation and it’s much a much better look on the astronaut. “So just quit it. You probably know by now you didn’t end the game but we at least helped Shuichi end everything.” He shrugs. “I haven’t heard it directly, but there’s a good chance that everything to do with future Killing Game Television productions is cancelled because of our series...namely, you.” He meets Kokichi’s eyes, a gesture that takes the boy on the bed back for almost a second. “You broke the whole thing eventually, you fucker. I guess you’re proud of that. You’re famous, even more so than the rest of us.” There’s a short pause for a laugh as Momota rubs the back of his own head with one hand, eyes closed. “I guess you already know all about that from the nurse’s gossip, right? Highest ratings in years? Most controversial contestant in its _existence?_ ” Once again their eyes meet and Momota leans in as Kokichi leans back into the pillows. He’s looking at him all nosy and earnest and _fucking irritating_ as usual and he hates Momota for it even more than he did before.

Momota takes the silence as an answer, unsurprised with Kokichi’s ignorance of the outside world. _If you don’t say anything he’ll tell you everything the nurses won’t tell you and you don’t even need to work for it._ Kokichi tells himself that along with the ‘fact’ that he’s only staying quiet because he’s bored and not because he is either curious or in too much pain to go off on his usual spiel for long. Definitely not the latter, he thinks, sneaking a glance at the part of the IV drip that should have been attached to the painkillers.

He doesn’t need the colours of Momota’s voice to tell him that the astronaut has been wanting to talk about this to someone new; and supposes that someone is going to be him for now. “Almost everyone else had their first interviews already, Shuichi even had that reunion with his Uncle on live television, y’know? It’s all been heart-warming and stuff, but then in the few moments we’ve been able to all meet up between staying here and tv and everything else we all realised people kept asking ‘bout you, and nobody even knew what happened to you!”

Kokichi’s already worked out most of this by now through overhearing conversations through his door and when the nurses check up on him at night when they think he’s asleep. It was obvious that they’d keep him of all people away from the media, at least until they can find a way to present the whole ‘we didn’t actually create the worst monsters in TV history honestly he was always like this, also please ignore that we almost actually let him die because he broke our connection to the game for just long enough to get nearly killed for real’ thing. (He suspects they’re still having the most problems with the latter half of that concept.)

“-ut I guess you already know all that already since you’re meant to be so smart and all. Not that you coulda gotten away with the grand scheme without me, but I’ll let you have that one. For the moment anyway.” Momota gives him that same _goddamn_ honest smile he’s hated from the moment they met before becoming silent once more, seeming to have noticed Kokichi was lost in thought for at least the last five minutes of his ramblings.

Kokichi in the meantime is trying to hold back any signs of irritation. Why is he still here, chattering away at him like they’re friends? Why is he dragging out the question he obviously wants to ask? (Why didn’t Saihara come instead? Had the Ultimate Detective already forgotten him after all? He chooses not to entertain the idea that the Detective is more likely infatuated with the Ultimate Pianist once more.) Why does Momota think he’s fine to just sit there and _look at him_ like that? Momota’s now fiddling with the hem of his obviously-not-hospital-issue pyjamas - a pair of silkish black and purple that strangely suits him and is a sad contrast with Kokichi’s hospital gown, one of many that he hasn’t had chance to escape from in weeks, on account of not having anyone left on the outside to buy him any.

He can tell that the other boy learned at least _something_ from the Killing Game, as he’s simply sitting there waiting for a response instead of digging for one as he’d used to. Even that small amount of restraint is a little impressive.

He lets the silence drag on for just long enough (at least fifteen minutes, but since nobody will let him have anything that can connect to the internet and the clock is still broken on the wall, his sense of time now comes from watching the routines around him) to be sure that Momota really wants to either apologise for what he overheard, or is just happy to sit there in his presence for some reason. It’s hard to be sure of the other’s actual intentions because for once Momota is simply just _there,_ neutral instead of the strong flashes of bright gold conviction and painfully white belief in others that Kokichi is used to surrounding Momota even when he’s silent. Hm. Whatever. He can blame anything he says in the next few minutes on the painkillers still crawling through his veins easily, ignoring that he’d stopped that part of the IV earlier that day.

“Lemme guess, you overheard the nurse mentioning I don’t have visitors because both my parents were dead, right?” He sees a short spark of shock from Momota as he breaks the silence without any warning and enjoys it for a moment for continuing. “Aaand you were gonna just walk off and tell everyone else about it so you can all feel _so bad for me_ and you would have been all buddy-buddy about it next time you all got to see me if it wasn’t for the next part, right? Because ‘oh, Ouma doesn’t have a mommy or daddy so that’s totally why he’s _so messed up,_ right? That deep down he just wanted everyone to be _friends_ and it was all gonna be _so cool_ cause some of you guys can relate to that and it’s all good, right? We can all get along and forgive each other?” He still doesn’t look at Momota, but can nearly smell the curiosity mixed with encroaching horror because he knows Momota knows exactly what he’s going to say next.

“Theeeen, you found out it was _during_ the game that it happened and everything around their deaths just screamed ‘suicide because we made that little monster and can’t take the shame of it anymore!’; and _then! Then_ instead of walking away like any normal person would have, you stayed a bit longer to hear me refuse the nurse’s _fantastic_ offer to let me have my dear sweet mother’s suicide note so I can try to guess why she did everything like I don’t already know why!” Kokichi ends the last word in a hard laugh and even to him it sounds pathetic rather than falsely carefree like usual.  His chest twinges and he blames it on the stitches shifting awkwardly. He’s being bitter and hard and risking far too much by putting it all out in words but he can’t stop them from coming out and it’s almost better this way.

Better, at least until he hears a sharp intake from Momota and flicks his head over to give the other boy a harsh look.

“Well, shit, Kokichi, I didn’t mea-” He begins and it’s in that moment he sees the words around Momota change and it’s still the worst possible one. _Nononodon’tyou_ dare _dothat!_ He throws the switch between truth and lies in its usual instant and slides easily back into the person he was back in the Game, or at least he tries. The oncoming headache is making it hard to think straight and words just keep falling out of his mouth without warning, a disgusting mix of pink and blue tinged with a deep red bitterness.

“That’s what you thought I’d say, right?” His head is in a different kind of agony from his chest from lack of sleep and decent food and he’s ignoring it as long as he can until he can change everything back but he knows he fucked up by even starting to address the elephant in the room. “That I feel bad about the whole thing? That I’m still guilty over killing them, or you, or Gonta? Miu?” The switch is now broken or gone altogether and even he can’t keep up with what he’s going to say. “That I actually cared about those garbage people that I just _happened_ to be born from? Or realising even the motive video had to involve yet another fiction because they couldn’t find anyone I’d care enough for to kill for, and the game masters needed me until I’d served some kind of _narrative purpose_?” This time the last word of the sentence ends up dragging into another silence, and his chest is heaving almost as much as it was as he’d laid down under the flat steel of the hydraulic press that was meant to be the end of his life. (He hadn’t been able to stare that down as he’d planned in the end, either.) “Because I don’t. The game didn’t exaggerate or change any of my personality like it did for all of you, I was always messed up enough to enter that Game and do it all as myself. I _asked_ for everything I got and I got what was coming to me and I’m okay with that. I did it all on purpose.”

It’s the sheer flatness of those last few words that damns him. It’s harder for him to stop real tears than create fake ones and he hates himself for the single one that escapes him in front of Momota’s incredulous violet gaze. The man in question is completely clouded in a thick mess of purple pity ( _Just like Kaito’s eyes just like his own just like the colour he doesn’t want people to feel when they look at him)_ despite an obvious attempt to stay blank-faced.

Their staring contest ends when a Kokichi sucks in a sudden pained breath, both glancing down to notice a real red seeping through the bandages on his arm, covering stitches that had already been redone a dozen times. He’d been too deep in his own self-pitying tirade to realise he’d grabbed anything at all, let alone felt it.

“Wait, shit, we should call the nurse, I’ll go get o-” And once again Kokichi can’t let him get a sentence in, disgusted at the pitying look Momota is giving him, how simply pathetic the whole thing is, and his last chance to get someone else to be disgusted by him in turn rather than pitying is slipping through his shaky hands.

There’s a shattering splash next to Momota’s head on the wall by the door, narrowly pausing his escape and the other man whips back around to look at Kokichi, who’s now kneeling forwards, having had to move almost off the bed entirely to throw the glass of water so far. “What the fuck was that for?!” He splutters incredulously, trying to ignore the puddle of water now growing at his feet. “I’m trying to help you, you goddamn moron! Now let me go get the nurse or someone else before you do more damage to yourself.”

“Just leave and I can call them myself.”

Momota snorts again, clearly not believing a lie that had no bite to it. “Sure, I totally believe you’ll do that. But look,” His face drops from honest anger for a moment, replaced again with the awful white-hot belief in others (in _him)_ that Kokichi wants to crush so much, and their eyes meet again. “I know you have this whole ‘I’m the big bad supreme leader of evil’ deal going on or whatever, but you can’t let that dictate everything now we _know_ it wasn’t really real. You gotta accept that whole being obsessed with making yourself some kind of puppet master blinded you to the fact the biggest strings were around your own neck.”

He’s almost right and Kokichi hates it and his last chance to kill off anything else that will happen from this point is in its dying breaths. He could stay quiet, let Momota go be the hero or whatever, let him go get help and have everything work out just okay for once.

The concept of such a nice ending lasts for a millisecond, before Kokichi forces out another bitter laugh (there was no reprogramming in the game he was always like this) and throws the old walls back in place to destroy everything the confessions had almost fixed.

“Aw, you do care!” He spits out, and sees Momota’s purple flicker into yellow for a second before being smothered and knows he needs to push it further. He needs to burn the bridge again, and forces it further. “Buuuut,” His hand is back at the bandages, digging further in in an attempt to tear everything underneath it. “the next time Saihara gives you a script to recite about friendship or hope or whatever, let him know I still think the one I wrote you was much better! Now go and get the nurses for me like a good boy, okay?” He shudders as he feels his nails inside the wound on his arm that he won’t let heal and _pulls_. The stitches give way entirely and he only has a few moments to register the spike in pain and the heat of his blood before Momota is shouting for assistance and he falls back onto the bed, right onto the injury he just worsened.

The last thought he has before finally succumbing to everything was that he’d succeeded in erasing the purple words Momota had been letting out, but it wasn’t to the usual colours of disgust or even anger. He was still trying to place it when the idea that it looked awfully similar to the colours around Saihara before Akamatsu was dragged off to her ‘execution’ at the start of the Game crossed his mind.

Of course, that was probably a lie. It couldn’t have been anything like that.


	3. Not an Instrument But They'll Still Play You Like One Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: The chapter in which Ouma realises being a living lie detector has its drawbacks, even as it becomes obvious that that particular quirk of his wasn’t planned by the ringleader who brought them to the Ultimate Academy  
> (Follows directly after the first execution, small warnings for emetophobia near the end)

This place really was hell.

It was possible that Kokichi Ouma and every one of his so-called ‘classmates’ were already dead and this whole situation was punishment for whatever sins that they had committed in life. This whole ‘game’ was simply the playful whims of some kind of demon in the form of a black and white robotic furry. The little things added up – the existence of the bear itself, the dome surrounding the whole school grounds, the lack of insects; (the fact that one of their classmates was _a goddamn robot_ and nobody questioned it). Another hint to his theory that was their memories before their imprisonment here were hazy at best and non-existent at worst. It would make sense in some way.

 _But_ … obviously that was a lie. A convenient one, but still a lie nonetheless.

The proof of that was in front of all fourteen of them in the form of what little remains of Kaede Akamatsu were still dripping from the iron maiden-esque piano that had been the final part of her execution.

Monokuma and his cubs had already left the courtroom, taking Kokichi’s horror about being unable to read everyone’s robotic captors with them.  The other teenagers were muttering amongst themselves, some still weeping openly like Gokuhara and Chasbibara (although the latter scolded the former for doing so, both their tears and words were a strong genuine blue-green.) Others still were shaking in anger or fear, or blank-faced in a haze of purple-red.

He could spot the astronaut was going to be one to keep an eye on already, his straightforward attempts to take control of the situation and unite them in Akamatsu’s absence were both concerning and amusing. Keebo at least had the sense to look like it – he? Was there any point in addressing something he couldn’t read as he’d address a human? – was suitably horrified like the rest of them. The Girl who made him sick to his stomach to even look at was clearly working through her own lack of empathy to put on a disgusted face. Kokichi couldn’t even entertain the thought of believing it for a second.

“We should probably leave this place – staying will only make us all more depressed.” He hadn’t looked at her as she spoke so the truth to those words was unknown. Kokichi had instead spent the last minutes after the detective boy had just let the astronaut punch and scold him (he noted some internal shivers at seeing such an action, something simple affected him more than the over-the-top gory execution, huh.) just watching said detective.

Saihara was incredibly savvy, but far too trusting and emotional to do his job properly. Easily swayed by the emotions of those around him but there was something a little deeper, if he could just reach it. There was a core of pure steel behind those molten-gold eyes that Kokichi knew he could fortify if he gave the other boy the right pushes in the right directions. In an ideal non-Killing Game world, the pretty detective would the exact kind of person he’d want to be following his schemes and plots closely, always clashing in the same old hero-villain cliché but never quite catching up to the Ultimate Leader. (Those kinds of childish fantasies will have to wait for a time when there aren’t literal lives on the line, if ever.) Despite his own disbelief that the killing game was going to continue, it was best to plan for the worst after this. Kokichi offered only one small line of ‘advice’ that could be taken multiple ways as he walked off to leave the boy in the hat in mourning.

 “Yep!” Mask back on, armour in place, it had been dented slightly by the first three days of imprisonment but would only grow stronger in time. “Just hit the reset button on all your feelings and you’ll feel cheerful in no time!”  He ended up skipping off behind the robot classmate as they left separately and lost in their own thoughts. His legs ached and his head was in agony, but the skipping added to the whole effect he needed to give off.

 It was early days yet, but if one of them had been a filthy killer in waiting, (and he still scolded himself in that moment for having empathy as she’d been rightfully dragged away to her own death,) then any one of them could be next. A larger than small part of him mourned as Saihara did, but for the innocent life that had been lost. If Akamatsu had just listened to Kokichi’s statement when the Killing Game was first announced that he was going to be alone in his room all night, completely defenceless -and he’d hoarded knives from the kitchen in his room to boot to make it even easier on her – then Amami would still be amongst them, and most likely a valuable ally in working out the mysteries of their situation. There’s no taking into account which of the two of them would be dead in that hypothetical, so he doesn’t dwell on it.

 _Of course_ , he wonders, as he now finishes picking the lock on his door – he’d destroyed the room key the first chance he’d gotten – there won’t be any further chance for allyship in however long this game lasts.

 _However long this lasts, huh?_ His hand shakes on the light switch just once and that’s enough to set his whole body trembling in earnest. He forgets about turning the light on with the revelation that the darkness helps soothe the relentless burning behind his eyes. _That trial was only the first, right_? Unstable legs drag him to the floor, sliding down the wall before he can fall over on his face.

The trial. A painfully bright cacophony of noise and colours and noise and far too many colours to keep track of all at once. (If he didn’t know it was pure paranoia speaking he’d hazard a guess that such a way to work out the murder had been a direct dig at his issues.)

Everyone lying or revealing titbits of information all in one go, times fifteen, all at once for what was probably hours. He’d had to time his ‘outbursts’ of fake tears to coincide with the real ones and even then, the whole time had been pure agony. Despite the pain it had been simple, so easy, just narrow down the right shades until you find the lie, reveal it, move on, repeat ad nauseum for each lie by lie by lie. Likewise, pointing out those among them who obviously could not have been the culprit was as much for his own entertainment as it was to gauge everyone else’s reactions to their classmates. (He’d kept half an eye on Monokuma every time, paying strong attention to void of ‘no colour’ around the bear – he had to work that thing out before he could have any strong escape plans in place.) Any and all evidence he’d already collected was only a helpful addition to the case rather than the crux of his arguments; but they’d been useful, and keeping them away from the ringleader or the other students would be a good idea.

A better idea right now would be to kill off the throbbing in his head.  He’d need to bother either Monokuma or the bear’s awful cliched children in order to get enough painkillers to continue on like this. It’s going to happen again and he needs to be ready for that inevitability unless he’s smart enough, quick enough to stop it.

It’s a good few minutes before Kokichi realises he’s sitting in a strangely familiar foetal position against the wall, hands clenched and tugging at hair that hasn’t seen a brush or shower for days. The pain doesn’t register in comparison but he forces his hands to relax anyway. _At least with two of us dead now the next one will be easier._

_The next one. Next murder, next trial, the next killing._

_Two of us are dead._

_Two people here, who were breathing and talking and walking around this time yesterday are dead. One of them almost didn’t deserve it. The other one was-_ He’s impressed that he makes it to the bathroom in just enough time to grip the toilet as his stomach decides to empty itself so now his throat can burn along with his head and eyes and chest. Kokichi heaves a few more times before sinking to the floor once more, whole body shuddering in the aftermath. It takes a good minute to figure out that being sick at all was a terrible idea despite it being a good excuse to drag himself over to the shower as soon as his shaking legs can pull him over to it.

Food would be an issue from now on, he guesses – as much as he can see that the Ultimate Maid is dedicated to her craft and serving whoever she deems to be ‘her people’ Kokichi can clearly see there’s an underlying will to live no matter the cost that he’d have ignored before the Game began. From now on it would be wise to either watch everything he asks her to make for him, only eat the exact foods he sees others eating, or not eat at all.

The last idea settles in his stomach awkwardly and he bites his lip, curious as to how easily his head takes to the idea of not eating for what could be days. His teeth clamp down for a second as another throb runs through his head and he can taste blood in his mouth like the blood pooled around Amami’s head like the blood that splattered over them from Akama – _OHGODSHE’SONMYCLOTHESONINMYHAIRANDSKINANDALLOFUSNONONO **NO**_.

He doesn’t make it to the toilet the second time, simply coughing what little bile his stomach was holding onto over himself, and yet the feeling is still less disgusting than the other fluids already over his clothes.

He’s hollowed out in every way possible, feeling as useful as a paper bag in a flood at this point, and figures he can have this one night. Just this one before throwing his armour back on. (There’s too much to do he doesn’t have time to be human but maybe this one, maybe. He’ll let himself have this.)

In the end it’s better to shower with the lights still off, he thinks. He’s allowing himself these scant few hours to be pathetic and weak and pathetically weak, but that doesn’t mean he has to look at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You guys talk about cooperation and teamwork, but you’re all afraid. You’re too scared to point your fingers at others, so you hide behind the word ‘trust’. How do you expect to find the culprit when you’re all worried about each other’s feelings?”
> 
> (Also if the blood thing in the end is metaphorical or real is up to you.)
> 
> (I've also made a tumblr to share other bits about this fic, as well as fanart if I can do it, so if anyone wants to hit me up it's  
> https://cheshirerising.tumblr.com/)


	4. An Unstoppable Force and an Immovable Object are More Alike Then You'd Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaito Momota is not sure if it's guilt or his usual Hero Complex that's driving him to help the same person he killed, but he's determined to keep knocking at Kokichi's walls until they come down completely. After all, if it had worked with Maki and Shuichi, it would work now, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funnily enough I kept listening to JubyPhonic's cover of Karma (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKUqXM7M9xo) During this chapter. Also Kaito is a lot more fun (and kind of pining for a Certain Someone even if he doesn't seem to notice it yet) than I could have thought. And considering Kokichi's still out of it I needed a different POV for this chapter.  
> Thanks to all of you on the Oumota server for inspiring me otherwise I would probably have given up by now, you're all absolutely blessed people.

 

Kaito Momota was no longer ‘technically’ ill but he was downright sick of the staff here telling him what to do. He’d been made to wait at least half a damn hour before even getting to talk to the person who could set up another meeting with another person who set up _another_ meeting with who then finally got him a quick ten-minute slot with the doctor in charge of Kokichi’s treatment.

They’d been there for five times that amount of time thanks to Kaito’s sheer inability to give a fuck about the excuses she’d kept throwing his way in her attempts to get him to leave without any answers.

The doctor gives him the look of a woman who had missed at least one lunch appointment and two cups of black coffee. Despite almost tasting the frustration that rolled off her in waves, Kaito folds his arms and leans back in his chair. Their game of ‘unstoppable force meets immovable object’ was nearing its ninety-minute mark, more obvious than ever that the young man before her wasn’t going anywhere until she gave him the exact answered he wanted. She sighed and straightened out her glasses, askew from the amount of times shed pinched her nose or rubbed her forehead in frustration. Trying to conceal her continued surprise that it was _this one_ of the whole group that was so insistent on seeing the patient in question, she finally relents. Despite it being early afternoon by now it was still far too early for any of this.

Kaito can see the shift in her posture, and elated in his victory, leans forward to plop his elbows straight onto the edge of the doctor’s desk.

“None of what I’m about to tell you leaves this room, if that’s alright sir?” The ‘sir’ part is added on a little sharply, like she’s seconds away from actually snapping and setting security on him. “I can’t force you to keep quiet but everything from this moment is highly controversial due to Mr Ouma’s…unique circumstances.” _Funny way to describe keeping the poor bastard in solitary confinement for nearly two months with no way to access the outside world while you figure out what to do with him._ Kaito just about keeps his mouth shut around the words. She was talking now, no need to antagonise her further. (A small part of him wonders what Kokichi would think of how he’d managed to wear her down, and if he’d be impressed or say something like ‘Oh, she just got bored of looking at your stupid face and gave up!’.)

“Aside from the fact you really shouldn’t have been there in the first place – being exposed to Kokichi Ouma this early on could have seriously impacted your recovery-” The whole staff tended to use words like that to refer to Kokichi, ‘exposed’, ‘deal with’, ‘experience’, like he was some sort of natural disaster or event rather than a volunteer-turned-victim of Team Danganronpa like the rest of them. “-especially your mental health. It’s lucky that those kinds of stressors seem to not affect you as much as they could have, but we’ll have to keep a closer eye on you from now on.” She’s slipped back into avoiding the subject again, and in frustration Kaito ends up slapping his hands onto the table to shake her out of that train of thought before it can go further.

“Bullshit to my ‘recovery’! I already know all this crap!” He’s standing up before he is even aware of moving, “Just tell me how Ko-Ouma’s doing. He’s a friend and I’m concerned about his well-being, and you know I’m not going to leave here until you either tell me what the _hell’s_ going on there, or you let me see him!” Using the ‘f’ word to describe the other boy is...awkward to say the least. Were they friends? During their time in the Gifted Inmates’ Academy he and the ‘Ultimate Supreme Leader’ had been at each other’s throats in a constant battle of wits. Which was to be more accurate, Kokichi would constantly antagonise Kaito, mock his entire system of belief, and then laugh and run away when Kaito tried to mouth off back at him. Then there was the whole mess of the Virtual World and everything that had come after that had led to both of their deaths (or so they’d believed at the time) where they’d worked together despite public insistence to the contrary.

Ah, the public were an issue in their own right, and Kaito could tell that Kokichi’s fame-or infamy, rather – was only going to grow the more they kept him out of sight. Despite being a technical victim in the Killing Game, Kokichi had garnered rather less sympathy than the others, especially Gonta and himself. So many people seemed to forget that they’d both killed out of free will – despite it being for a misguided good cause, and nudged along by the boy in question, that burden was still upon them. He hadn’t spoken to the bug enthusiast for a few days, but he was certain Gonta felt the same way. He spots the woman in front of him giving him a strange look, and shakes his head to clear it with an awkward grin to apologise for getting stuck in his own thoughts.

“ _As I was trying to explain to you,_ sir, I can’t officially give you more information than you are cleared to know, but unofficially”- and here Kaito sits down to lean in as her voice drops conspiratorially, “he’ll be awake again later today, tomorrow at the latest, we’re keeping him out at the moment to minimise the risk of him causing further damage to himself. If he pulls out his stitches even one more time there’s at least an eighty percent chance he’ll cause enough nerve damage to paralyse his arm completely. We’re going to have to add on the physiotherapy of that as well as the rest of his body. He’s yet to walk under his own power and is refusing to take any more pain relief than necessary, not to mention the issues with eating and drinking.” She fixes him with another look that he can’t properly identify before continuing. “Honestly, we’re doing the best we can with him, but it’s past the point where we’ve had to initiate a specific clause in your contracts. We have to ignore his wishes in order to help him. If he wants to _die_ so much he can do it on his own time outside of here, but in here we’re _obliged-”_ The word is spat out and Kaito almost flinches at the woman’s anger spiking. “-to keep all fourteen of you alive and safe until you’re well enough to leave.” _And good riddance,_ he almost hears in the silence that follows.

Putting aside his confusion about why the Supreme Leader would want to refuse any and all help – although he has a strong hunch if it’s any similar to his game plans – Kaito raises what he can tell will be his last question. “None of that explains the lack of visitors, doctor. Two months he’s been in there, basically alone the whole time. Is denying him visitors some kind of punishment for him not playing along? Is it even legal to do that?”

Another raised eyebrow greets him. “It’s perfectly legal if he chooses to not have visitors, Mister Momota – without any immediate family or other acquaintances attempting to contact him, there’s nothing we can do on that front. There’s only one other contestant who made a request to visit Ouma, and probably for good reason Gokuhara was declined access, at least for the time being.  I’m also fairly certain by his actions by your, ah, ‘successful’ visit have also made this clear to you that he doesn’t want to see anyone else.”

There’s that other word he’s heard so often lately that he’s become sick of – _contestant_.  The implication that _Danganronpa_ was nothing more than a simple game show rather than one that pushed teenagers and young adults to murder each other for the sick entertainment of the masses.

Again the memories of his audition tape stir, short flickers of the person he used to be rise up before Kaito smothers them internally. It’s not worth thinking about. At all. The man he was on his way to becoming before entering _Danganronpa_ is not worth his time outside of the mandatory group talk sessions and therapy meetings. He knows that this isn’t the healthy way to process those memories, but obsessing over it like Shuichi was still doing was just as bad.

He rubs the back of his neck with a hand – a nervous tic he was certain he hadn’t had before – again before deciding to push his luck.

“I can help you with him.”

“You can _what_?” Once more her eyebrows had risen five feet from her face. Cleary this was not the kind of response she was expecting at all, professional demeanour completely shaken off by his statement.

“Just let me spend some time with him! You know I’m gonna keep bothering all of you until you let me see him for myself, and this way you can both be assured someone’s keeping an eye on Ouma as well as having to spend less manpower on trying to convince him to accept help.” She straightens back up as if considering the idea but still eyes him warily. “If he’s not at least a little better by this week I’ll leave him alone completely. Man’s honour.”

Kaito bumps his fists together, already convinced of his own idea. After all, he’d kept knocking on Harumaki’s walls until she’d let them down, and the same with Shuichi’s until the Detective had become a strong person in his own right, they both had. How hard could it be to do it again?

(‘ _And maybe if you’d tried the first time around instead of falling for his lies maybe things would have ended better. You could have sav-’_ That thought joins the ones of his pre-game self in the trash.)

He’s already halfway to the door before he hears another sigh and a quiet, “I’ll allow it. One week. If there are no improvements to his physical, emotional or mental health – or _yours -_ , we will have to ban any further contact. If this is acceptable, then I suppose it can’t do much more harm to let you try.”

***

He feels like it should have been obvious before this point, but Kaito had never realised how much of Kokichi Ouma’s carefully-constructed persona had been created with the purpose of making him look larger than life, if not bigger in general to distract from his small stature, or anyone who would try to underestimate him.  

Without the shirt that was creepily reminiscent of a straightjacket, the blackish-blue and purple-tipped mess of hair that looked like it would eat any hairbrush that dared to come close; and especially without the impressive cape and hat that Kaito had secretly caught him swanning around in on at least three occasions, the boy looked the complete opposite of his masks – small, fragile, a little (a lot) broken. He looks even smaller without the trademark checkboard scarf, and Kaito shudders internally as he remembers how his friend had easily lifted Kokichi up by the neck to throttle him on more than one occasion, her slender but strong hands easily overlapping each other. He remembers, too, the too-long pause he’d taken before begging her to stop.

As he takes the only seat in the room close to the top of the bed, he’s almost eye-level with Kokichi – or would be if the other boy were awake – the bed is at an angle that he suspects has something to do with a new tube running from a drip and down his nose, taped a little awkwardly to cheekbones that are a lot sharper than he remembers from last week. There’s a vulnerability there (in the kind of sleep that has clearly come from a combination of drugs and exhaustion rather than natural rest) that Kaito recognises from back in the game for a split-second as he’d laid the other boy under the press to die.

He was sure he’d imagined it then, as soon as their eyes had met – one pair bloodshot and weary but fearless, the other pair full of inexplicable concern and holding back tears – he’d thrown up his signature Supreme Leader grin and coughed his last words out; “At least I wasn’t boring, right?”

It was those words that make him re-evaluate almost every interaction they’d had up to this point but there’s no time and Kokichi’s grin is faltering and his eyes are tearing up again and Kaito knows it’s time to set the end of their plan into motion to give the poor bastard some semblance of dying with dignity. With a purpose. ( _And completely, utterly alone, even though you were with him the whole way till the end, even though your shirt was still damp from where he’d clung to you and sobbed as his veins burned with poison that your friend had shot him up with and you just stood there instead of saying something,_ anything _useful. Even when he asked you to come closer and confessed he didn’t want to die without his first kiss and you’d laughed it off a whole second before he did.)_ Despite telling the others the whole of the plan, that’s one of the things he’ll take to the grave with him (and had planned to), just like he’ll continue to pretend he didn’t hear the muffled crying from underneath the press before moving to the controls to end it all.

Shaking himself out of reverie once more he notices with a start that both of Kokichi’s wrists are held down in some form of hospital restraint – a measure to minimise any more self-harm tendencies, he suspects – and wonders how the boy on the bed will react to the further humiliation of being forced into an even worse form of helplessness when he finally wakes. For a second the astronaut doubts this whole plan, there’s a very good chance being literally trapped in the same room as him could cause Kokichi to flip out even worse than before.

If the supreme leader’s composure was cracking during their plan, he suspected it was completely shattered at this point. Kaito hadn’t mentioned it but he was doubly sure Kokichi was certain others could see what a mess he’d become by now. The eyes, again, had been the worst part. He’d tried to ignore everything else from his last visit, the genuine tears of frustration, the shakiness of his voice and body, the way Kokichi had seemed to lose the ability to lie at all, let alone seamlessly as usual. His eyes had the tormented look of a wounded animal as it realises there’s no way out of the trap its caught in but still continues to try to gnaw its own leg off rather than give up gracefully.

The strangled laughter that had followed behind Kaito as he’d ran to the nearest nurse’s station in sheer panic had haunted his dreams more than once since that day.

He works out only when he feels a slight warmth on his hand that he’s moved closer to the bed and that he’s placed his palm to Kokich’s cheek without realising it, brushing some errant strands of blue-black-purple hair out of the way. His skin is colder than the astronaut’s own, but no way as clammy as if had been during their last moments in the hangar. It’s paler than before despite the dark bruising that still lingers across his cheekbones and forehead and around both his eyes.

The boy that had played the part of the Ultimate Supreme Leader of Evil had always been cute, and it had been obvious he’d used his looks as an advantage on more than one occasion to manipulate them all, and yet this was different from before. The sheer mess of a young man before him reminds him far too strongly of his sidekicks to want to back out of this plan now. He _needs_ to stay with Kokichi. At least until he can convince the stubborn bastard to accept help.

Shuichi and Maki need him even now, possibly more than ever; and Kaito knows there’s no real way he can bring them to him or vice versa; but Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Goddamn Stars is nothing but determined. He knows that Kokichi won’t accept his help, and is even more certain that his friends would judge him for wanting to give that help, but that doesn’t phase him. He can just say it’s an apology for punching him ( _and for letting him die cold and alone in that hangar without anyone who gave a single shit about him, you included.)_ or something. It’ll be a bullshit excuse, but nobody will question him if he has the right attitude about it.

The Ultimate Assassin not wanting anything to do with Kokichi is still understandable, and he accepts that those wounds may take longer to heal than most, but maybe eventually there can be some sort of reconciliation. After all, if Ryoma and Kirumi were on at least amicable terms at this point, there has to be a chance.

Shuichi’s level of indifference is concerning, however. He can’t exactly place the expression of the Ultimate Detective’s face whenever the subject is brought up, but he doesn’t like whatever it is.

There’s a movement in his hand and Kaito’s eyes flick down to Kokichi, who has somehow pushed his face further into his touch, almost nuzzling into his hand’s warmth. There’s a twitch on the smaller’s face, a short pained hitch of breath as the bruises on his face are irritated by the movement. His eyelids flicker for a second and the astronaut is certain he catches Kokichi mumble something that sounds awfully like ‘Saihara-chan’.

He’s not sure if it’s the concept that Kokichi was clearly hoping Shuichi had come to visit him at last, or the fact that he’s stuck with his hand cupping the supreme leader’s face as he’s starting to wake up that makes his stomach drop through the floor.

 


	5. I'll Sleep When I Am Dead, Can That Be Soon Please?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iruma is useful, if disgusting to be around, and Kokichi swallows his hesitation, as well as the Inventor's sickeningly chocolate words and moods to put at least two of his plans into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, Miu is both fun and a pain in the arse to write. I'll apologise in advance for this not being the strongest chapter, but I've had a lot to deal with aside from moving home to convention work that I'm not gonna go through here.  
> Once again, everyone in the cow cult and Oumota hell has my eternal thanks, especially Lilithium, Furry-in-Human-Clothing, ReturntoZero, Otabek_Altin, and other people who I'll edit into here when I can sort out their AO3 names!  
> Hopefully chapter six won't take two months to update, and you all enjoy this one!  
> (Next chapter will go back to 'present day' and will go back to flailing astronaut and leader hours)

_It's the same each and every night._

_Glare at my screen with two big bloodshot eyes._

_I'm stuck self-torturing; my meds are failing me._

_Internal clock in smithereens._

_Can't fix this, I'm hopeless._

_Several hours after Akamatsu’s execution:_

_***_

If he hadn’t already made a list of his ‘classmates’ ranging from ‘most liked’ to ‘absolutely would not be around unless trapped in a sick game of murder’, Kokichi Ouma would surely have made a new one just now. He also would have placed the person whose room he currently stood outside neatly at the bottom save for one among them who was already deceased. Of course, he hadn’t known the person in question for that long, but he couldn’t deny the strong sensations of disgust simply being in their vicinity arose in him. He could never quite put his finger on why, but every time they spoke, it was in shades of a sickening chocolate brown – ironic, considering the sweet in debate had used to be one of his favourite snacks until shortly after puberty – and painful bright pinks just like their clothing. Being around them was like talking to Akamatsu had been after Rantaro’s murder, but stronger, more instinctively disgusting.

Maybe it would be best to just throw the objects he’d come to have investigated away, or simply use them and take whatever consequences followed. It took less than three seconds to realise exactly how stupid taking mystery ‘prescription’ tablets, however official they seemed, especially in their current situation, would be. At the very least, he’s scratched the label with his name and details off enough for it to be illegible, and if he’s smart enough in his behaviour he can distract the classmate whose room he’s still standing uselessly outside of.

 _This is getting you nowhere, either knock or just walk away you idi-_ all internal debate is suddenly quietened by the door to Miu Iruma’s bedroom opening, her eyes widening in surprise as she splutters out an irritated greeting.

“Hey, shrimp-dick! What the hell’re you doing outside my room?” She suddenly switches to a scandalised expression as her voice begins to carry that sickening coffee-esque tinge to it. “Is this a b-booty call? I’m not ready! You think a tiny shit like you can handle the great inventor Iruma without wining and dining her first? Well you’ve got another thing coming, bu-”

Kokichi cuts her off with an internal eye roll and a scathing tone, already feeling nauseous in the inventor’s presence, especially being this close to her.

“If I were the type to look for a booty call, I’d go for someone that looked slightly less like a pig crossed with the cheapest of all fleshlights and someone who looked like literally any other of our friends here.” He catches the short, offended snort she gives and follows up the verbal jab with a literal one to her stomach. “Besides, even if I were attracted to you enough or blind enough to even touch you, I’d have to fight past the congealed fluids of every other guy who’s ever fucked you to even get it in; which I’m _toootaly_ not interested in dealing with. You may have more luck with Shinguji there though, I can practically _smell_ the deviance on that weirdo!” Even the short contact of his finger to her body sends a shiver up his back, and he covers the twitch it causes by delivering another finger-poke that’s disturbingly close to her comically large breasts. The contact has the inventor stepping back with another sharp breath in, face reddening more by the second.

Kokichi takes advantage of her casting about for a sassy comeback or sex-related joke to push her aside and take strides into Iruma’s bedroom. He takes quick notes on the disturbing and unnatural neatness of the bed, as if the woman who’s still spluttering behind him is either a fastidiously neat sleeper or he’s not the only one having sleeping issues. (Not that anyone amongst them could be blamed for stress-based insomnia, really.) The rest of the room looks similar to his own, apart from instead of there being a mess of evidence and assorted trash that may someday hold some clue to escaping this place, there’s pieces of all kinds of contraptions strewn about, from something that looks like the missing coffee machine – a discovery he decides to file away to tell a currently caffeine-deprived and twitchy Saihara at a later point – to parts that were clearly scavenged from the hopeful few hours that Monokuma had exploded itself. The sight is reassuring. Clearly Iruma lives up to her title and is at the least as smart as she is lustful. Kokichi moves her up the list half a place, considering putting her a whole person up if she proves to be useful.

Remembering he needs to act the part of curious classmate and knowledgeable asshole all in one, he turns on one foot to her with some flourish – wishing slightly as he did that he could wear his cape he’d found again without it looking too ridiculous to add to the effect – “So, miss Piggy-” He begins, not even needing to force the wide grin on his face as he brings up his first of a few challenges. Holding the box in his hand between two fingers to show the mostly-blank box to Miu. “Rumors from a certain dead piano idiot said you spent your first 48 hours here desperately seeking some kind of chemical high, am I riiight? Well, I managed to find these somehow laying about in the warehouse and whaddyaknow, they clearly seem to be _some_ kind of drug!” The shuddering noise Iruma lets out is disgustingly coffee-coloured with a strong curious tint to it. Her hands twitch, but otherwise she’s composed as she moves towards him and lets the door close behind her. He’s almost impressed that the inventor hasn’t lunged at him yet to look closer to the mystery drugs in his hand.  Once again her expression moves into a haughty sneer as her eyes flick between Kokichi’s face and the box in hand.

“Well, sadly for your virgin shota ass, they don’t seem to be Viagra!”

“Hmm? And you can tell that just by looking at a plain box, can you? Wow, maybe Iruma the whore is the kind of girl who needs to roofie and Viagra her partners cause they’re too disgusted by her otherwise!” To her credit, Iruma doesn’t rise to the bait, instead moving closer again (and once again the Supreme Leader curses his short stature and the indignity of having to look up at people that he should be looking down upon in more ways than one) to grab the box from his hand.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess, needle-dick McGee, that you have no idea what this shit is either?” Iruma’s eyes light up with curiosity as her phrasing drifts into a much more comfortable light blue to match her pool-coloured irises.

“Oh, I do! I just want to see if the ‘great and powerful Miu Iruma’ can stop being a slut for just long enough to throw together a little something to be sure of my predictions!” Again, he ignores the change in her demeanour. Usually needling into someone’s quirks would be a fun way to pass the time in this dreary prison, but Kokichi needs this small mystery solved and out of the way so he can focus on more important things. “Or, that could be a big fat lie, and I could be just as clueless as you are with a dick in your hand! Either way, you can’t deny you’re both curious and a little withdrawal-y, and it’s not like there’s anything else for you to do here right? Well, apart from try to grope anyone who’ll come within range, that is.” It’s easy enough to start walking away since Iruma is certain to have agreed to the question he has for her without needing to ask it.

She splutters again and whirls around to look at Kokichi as his hand rests on the door handle. “Of course, I can whip up something without a lab to check out what the fuck this crap is easily! And if these are the kinda shit I need? I’m keeping them. That’s my payment.” He can hear the pout on her face.

“Great! So I’ll be back later tonight to see how it’s coming on! And if it’s not finished in a few hours-” He sends a near-demonic look at Iruma over his shoulder, just as extra incentive to see if she’s paying attention. “You’re not gonna be happy with what comes next.”

He stifles a curse as her next noise turns the whole bedroom pink-tinged deep brown and leaves before he actually throws up.

***

_The night before Himiko’s magic show:_

_***_

He should break it, he thinks idly, lying back on the bed and staring at the multicoloured tablet in his hands. Disposing of it would be a pain but would be a significant alternative to keeping it. There’s enough debris from the first trial here to cover it up enough to keep him from seeing it. Boxes full of plans and blueprints and idle doodles would easily keep the cursed thing out of sight.

Maybe if he did bury it beneath the assorted papers that litter his room he could forget it, and carry on with the task – many tasks, really, a supreme leader never has one constant plan after all; that would be silly – of escape or cancelling the game. He can’t bring himself to do any of the above despite knowing without knowing how that everything involved in the ‘motive video’ is false.

The fiction that plays every time he rewatches it is enough to keep him up most nights when he decides to sleep, despite the colours floating around Monokuma’s taunting tone of voice. (He’s still unsure if he can even see the colours of a robot’s voice, the endless hours of needling Kiibo have given him almost enough to work yet, but not quite enough.)

The concept of what if what if what if this time it’s real is a constant headache to accompany the one that flares up every time one of his fellow prisoners talks.

Kokichi drops the Kub’s Pad behind him and sinks further into pillows that are only sometimes comfortable, cursing said bear for not being useful enough to provide any decent painkillers, just basic over-the-counter garbage. The other drugs that appeared in his room in the last few days he had tested by the pervert Inventor and decides to not take any, despite reading the information sheet and recognising the symptoms of going cold-turkey within himself. He could certainly do without the shaking, dizziness, nausea brought on by his brain trying to adjust to lack of happy pills. Then again, it’s almost easier to be doing this to himself than become dependent on whatever the mastermind – and he’s certain that there’s at least one of those now – gives him. He’s wary of the amount given, too. A single sheet of sixteen tabs of ibuprofen, and with as much as he’s allowed to take at a time being two every four hours, leaves him with literally one day before he runs out.

Kokichi doesn’t put it past the ringleader amongst them to have done this on purpose, too.

He puts the rise again of a headache behind him and once again reaches for one of many notepads, this one with a list of what he knows about everyone else’s motive videos. Sneaking around the school to get them and using Gonta as a distraction had fared well enough for the start. Of course, after the disaster of _Keebo_ of all things bringing Kokichi’s scheme to hold a viewing party as a means to put everyone on the same footing had failed, he’d had to change tactics. It wasn’t too much of a knockback aside from the hour and a half wasted after the personal Insect Meet-N-Greet Gonta had held for him. Even now several hours after midnight he could sometimes mistake the feel of his own hair on his neck for the legs of an insect. The undignified noises that had followed the first two times had lead Kokichi to improvise a hair tie out of string to stop it from happening a third time.

At least one thing he’d had in mind had gone to plan, or at least he had to hope it was. Hoshi, the tennis master, a man constantly draped in a cloud of dark-blue and grey. His motive video had been claimed by _that girl_ by accident, and Kokichi hadn’t had the opportunity to view it himself. So, banking on the killer girl’s lack of desire to murder anyone yet, he’d sent the tiny sportsman her way in order to give him a motive to pull him out his depression (after all, the drugs that insisted on appearing in Kokichi’s room were not going to help either of them. Every tablet so far had been taken out, crushed, and flushed down the toilet. If Ryoma was anything like him, and Ryoma was a smart person, he’d have been doing the exact same thing.) If Ryoma had a reason to live, then that would be another tally-mark of success on Kokichi’s side as well as a possible ally for future use.

But now is not the time to think of things that are already in motion. There’s other things to focus on, like the video pad he currently holds in his hand. Said Pad sits as uselessly as he does on the bed, and Kokichi slides his focus over to the whiteboard on the wall and the photographs attached to it. So far, he has his ‘classmates’ – the ones who are still alive, at least – lined up in terms of suspicion levels.

At the moment the victim/killer side is pretty bare, but if the feelings he gets from half of his fellow prisoners are correct it’ll grow soon. If he can cut off the head (or replace it, but that scheme is still half-formed and a last resort besides) he can keep it quite empty, but the photos are easily movable just in case.

The classmates themselves all line up far too well to his specific sensitivities for it to be just a coincidence, and again the paranoid thought that this game has more thought into it than ‘get a bunch of talented teenagers to kill each other’ rises up to taunt him.

Kokichi shoves out a breath, pushing himself up off the bed and toward the whiteboard at the same time to take a closer look at them all.

Sleep is obviously avoiding him tonight, so he can at least use his time more effectively rather than trying to focus on a past he’s not even sure exists.


	6. People Allergy, or The Real Disappearance of Kokichi Ouma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kokichi is some kind of freak for real and it's entirely the worst time to know it for certain.
> 
> Or, the chapter in which Kokichi discovers he has the world's worst superpower. 
> 
> I leave for three months and come back with content, I'm sorry it's not more cheerful.
> 
> The majority of this chapter is incredibly dark, has detailed depictions of sexual, physical and mental abuse, if that's not for you you can skip everything from the words 'into that of a predator.' and come back after '"Hey, c'mon you assholes!"' if you're good with skirting around it. There's a lot of plot-relevant stuff that will be revealed in more detail later in this, but it should be also fine to skip altogether. 
> 
> We back in pregame chapters and we are not having a good time, lads, but hopefully there will be the actual beginnings of Oumota in the next!
> 
> (Once again thank you to my friends mentioned in the previous chapters for crying with me when I was writing this, y'all are the best eggs.)

_Oh sweet nostalgia, you’ve started to rot_  
“It worked back then, why not now?” Isn’t that what stupid you thought?  
What will it take to make a difference in the apathetic heart of a fool?

_(The Real Disappearance of Hatsune Miku, Cosmo@P)_

 

Kokichi had been expecting at least some kind of further ‘payback’ in the months after the attempted suicide of his main bully – entirely the boy’s own fault, he thinks dispassionately, Kokichi wasn’t to blame at Touma being unable to face the evidence of his crimes being sent to both local police and the headmaster’s personal email – but this was just _dull._ Uninspired, really. He’d been easily knocked nearly senseless by one of the moron’s friends, caught unawares by the attack and was currently flat on the floor surrounded by the most loyal of Touma’s so-called lackeys.

There was a silver lining to this at least; Kokichi had heard rumours that the boy who had taken over the mantle of ‘king asshole’ had been one of the same who had been behind the mugging of a kid from another school, the same one Kokichi had come across in the aftermath.

He hadn’t meant to go over to see if the boy was okay; a girl had run towards the kid as he laid prone on the ground, phone in her hand ready to call – Kokichi had assumed – the police. Instead of actually assisting, the girl took a few photos while the poor bastard writhed in pain on the floor, bent down to whisper something into his ear and dropped what looked like a black-and-white business card onto his chest before dashing away again. It had been so utterly bizarre that Kokichi threw aside his usual wishes to just ignore the usual things that happened around him and helped the boy off the ground.  
Instead of looking distressed as a person would be after a severe beating, the boy was smiling widely, gripping the business card in a sweaty hand as his other had grasped Kokichi’s offered one. He hadn’t answered a single question Kokichi had asked, only muttered to himself in excitement and said the odd word to Kokichi himself. He’d seemed to calm down after Kokichi had handed back the battered black hat and thanked the shorter boy properly and apologised for not being able to ‘reveal audition secrets’, leaving Kokichi completely perplexed. In the confusion he’d forgotten to ask the boy’s name, and he’d been trying to gather information about both him and the mysterious ‘recruiter’ girl with choppy electric blue hair ever since.

Either way, Kokichi is brought back to the real world with a kick to his side, the main one demanding he pay attention, so they can pay him back for what he did to their boss. He snorts with laughter at the word 'boss', unable to control his giggles even as his face is pushed further into the cold, damp tiles. Cornering someone in the shower room after gym class is so boringly overdone that Kokichi adds more mental strikes against every one of the boys surrounding him.

"The boss? Holy shit, _hahaha_ what the hell do you all think you're up to, have you surpassed playing Yakuza games and gone into larping?  That's so sad! Oh, wow, oh my god, holy shit."  The shoe sole grinding his head does nothing to dampen his grin as he spits out more mockery. The floor is almost soothing to the black eye that will probably form later. Every single one of his wannabe tormentors looks downright pissed at the way Kokichi doesn't seem to care that he's outnumbered and out muscled seven to one.

One of them, the one with burgundy undertones whenever he talks to a girl, has the sheer cliché gall to ask him what's so funny.

"You! All of you are the most entertainment I've had all week! I'm actually grateful, really, we don't have a TV right now at home so move just been wasting away without my daily dose of Danganronpa-esque violence." He holds in a hiss as the foot presses down and one of the other goons has the balls to attempt a kick to his ribs, following it up with a stamp onto one of his arms. He’s surprised none of them have gone for his hands seeing as that would make harder for Kokichi to make an escape later. It doesn't matter. "I was just thinking I could come up to the dumbest assholes in the school and ask them to entertain me until it's fixed, but you fine fellows must have read my mind! I'm so grateful right now!"

He's pushing it too far, some deep down common sense tells him, but he throws it aside. Only results matter, only getting the information he wants is important and if that means he has to endure some childish 'revenge' at the hands of Touma's remaining crew he'll do it. Kokichi just needs to find the right buttons to push, and if that involves looking weak until the right moment so he can slip under their guards, then so be it.

It may be worth pointing out how suspicious this whole thing looks, just to see if any of the weaker ones crack and leave. "Although I'll admit," He laughs as he's pulled into a standing position with his arms secured behind his back by one of the largest and stupidest ones, "This is probably the worst way to ask someone on a date if I'm honest, okay, Beebo?" He sends a sultry wink to the current ringleader, a bottle-blond who's actually smarter than he looks.

"It's Hiro! And you'll do well to remember my name for when you're begging me to stop later." The boy hisses to an unphased Kokichi, who merely raises his eyebrows as if to say 'Oh, really?'

"You're really not helping yourself here, are you? Come on, even you have to admit this looks off, right?" His heart picks up as one of the other morons, some kid with greasy hair and glasses but more muscle than expected pulls at the front of his shirt, tearing off buttons. Kokichi knows they won't go _that_ far but the fear is in the back of his mind regardless. It must be for the cigarettes two of them are casually smoking. Easier to make burn marks when there's no fabric in the way. He internally rolls his eyes at how annoying it is to take care of burns on your back, almost praying for these geniuses to take a little mercy and go for his front this time.

Externally he fortifies the grin.

" _Soooo_ , stripping a guy down in a public place, stealing his spare clothes and then getting your buddies 'Thing One and Things Two through Six here to hold him down while you rough up his semi-naked body _isn't_ flirting? Wow! have I been reading this situation all wrong! Especially with the way you were just saying you were gonna make me 'beg for you' and all!" Kokichi pushes a pout up to his face, ignoring the way it aggravates the forming bruise on his cheek. "Guess you're not getting my number after this lousy date, then. The only thing I'm begging you to stop is to stop being so _boring_. I changed my mind, I'd rather go back to no TV."

 

It's that that forces Hiro's hand, the sheer lack of care Kokichi is still giving off contorts the boy's face into a snarl as he actually delivers a punch to Kokichi's bare torso himself. The 'victim' simply laughs, wheezing, the hit getting him right under the ribs. He's giddy even though nothing has done any damage to his head, something in Kokichi telling him that he needs to go further, push them to hurt him more viciously. It's less a direct thought than a feeling that somehow begins after his shirt is stripped from him unceremoniously, pulsing out from where Thing One has large hands around Kokichi's paler, smaller arms. It doesn't make sense but following along with such an emotion may actually help him work out what he needs to know. These assholes are the only ones who saw the that girl’s last whereabouts.

Another hit stops the laughter for a second and Kokichi meets livid eyes that could be any colour, he can't see them through the haze of red that drips as the leader speaks. "Stop laughing! Just stop, you little brat!" Kokichi doesn't until the first cigarette is pressed into his stomach, biting down on a noise of pain. "That's more like it, okay? You're learning your fucking place today whether you like it or not." There's a sad relief in Hiro's voice that makes this all the funnier. You can be as smart and vicious as you like, but when your bullying victim keeps playing it off as a joke, it takes a stronger force of will than this kid had to keep up the act. He’s ninety percent sure that Hiro doesn’t have the will to keep being top dog. If Kokichi breaks him down it may create a power vacuum, yes, but the civil war between the school’s delinquents will be both entertaining to watch and a good way to remove other threats.

"What, you want me to actually cry or something?" He snarls back as another of the boys pulls at his hair to make him look the ringleader directly on the face. " _Sowwy_ , I totally used all my tears last night when I had to watch the last execution on my phone!" He's rewarded for his cheek with another tug, another burn attempt that actually makes him gasp in pain. Something else starts building up in Kokichi's body, but it's so alien to the situation that it doesn't quite register. It's starting to become warm in the room, and he blames it on the smoke that's starting to make him cough between more taunts.

None of the other four boys seem to be doing anything apart from watching either Kokichi or the entrances to make sure nobody else comes in. He decides to pull them into their chat.

"So be honest with me here, fellas, how many of you are gonna jerk off to this when you get home?  Just raise your hand or something - oh, not you, Thing One, you gotta use both of yours to make sure I don't run off and tell anyone about this, right?" More mentions of this being a front for some kind of sexual interest in Kokichi seems to be Hiro's proper weak spot, and the blond reacts to it with a vengeance. 

"Hey, I'm not some kind of _freak_ like you are, Ouma." An actual punch to the face again. Still boring, but the force behind it makes his vision blur. "Though I suppose it runs in the family, hmm?"

His stomach drops a little. This is new. Kokichi actually begins to pay attention to the words being said than their colours. His new-found anxiety doesn't show on his face, but the group seems to notice his minute change in demeanour.

"Oh? And what, pray tell, is that supposed to be a dig at?" His vision wobbles further as Hiro grabs at his chin, holding it between a finger and thumb. The unexplainable warmth intensifies as the grip on his arms tightens.

"Well, I don't know about what's normal in your family, but in mine we generally don't have dads that wander off to love hotels and get seen leaving with other men."

Ah. A good comeback, Kokichi thinks. Not that it bothers him personally, but it's not exactly a shining example of fatherhood to be cheating on your wife and son with barely-legal male prostitutes. He was hoping to keep that cat in the bag. Sadly, with one of Hiro's group holding up a phone to show a series of incriminating photos that none of the people on the room had taken, he knows it's already too late to find the origin. Which is the other half of why he was there in the first place. Now he just needs to make one of them slip up and reveal who gave them the photos as well as the other information.

“Oh?" Kokichi tips his head to the side, or tries to, the other boys bruising grip keeping it in place. It's starting to hurt to talk. Still getting warmer, too. "Were you so jealous of these poor hookers that you were hoping I could give you an in with my dear old dad?" The grip tightens around Kokichi’s giggles. Dark green eyes narrow.

Hiro steps back and motions towards another boy who steps forward with an eager nervousness. The leader's smirk transforms fully into that of a predator. Kokichi twitches as he realises that the other boy actually may have him trapped now. His breathing becomes heavier again.

"That's kind of the thing. Just wondering how far the similarities go is all." He nods his head at the new boy, a dark-brown haired short one. "Get his pants for me."

Kokichi swallows down new nerves, pulling the smile back up from where it had dropped momentarily. "Told you already, love letters in the desk are much classier even if they're cliché! Or chocolates in the locker! I like the white ones with strawberries best." He whispers the last part into the ear of the new boy as he unzips Kokichi's trousers and yanks them down to his ankles, leaving him bare except for his boxers. The concern from this new act drives Kokichi to double down, he doesn't care about this, he's not scared even for a second.  It doesn't show on his face apart from a twinge in his eye. Hiro zeroes in again on his quickly bruising body, eyes lighting up with something that looks like an unholy glee.

"You may wanna keep the cameras out for this one boys, because I guess the old saying of 'like father like son' really is true!" The blond delinquent's laughter is echoed by the odd chuckle from the others. 

Another bodily shudder as Kokichi catches on far too late what the second-hand warmth must be.

It can't be right, wouldn’t be fair in any way for this long-held suspicion to be confirmed in this way, right now. It would have to be some kind of cruel joke by an even crueller god, but the way his body has been reacting to - until now unrealised - second-hand lust confirms everything he's been concerned about since he was twelve. The night he truly felt his mother's intent to kill, not just through her actions, but through the emotional buzz that emanated from the touch of her hands around his neck.

Kokichi is some kind of freak for real and it's entirely the worst time to know it for certain. He squirms in Thing One's grip, realising that the boy behind him has been getting off on this the whole time and slides his mask on a little slower than it had gone on before. He can't escape the touch, and the way his body keeps responding, becoming more heated and sensitive against his wishes pushes his captor's sick attraction even higher.

"S-so what now? You gonna go all the way with this? Feel me up in some kind of way to 'shut me up?' To get revenge for your 'boss' for jumping off that bridge? Is this really going to be worth it?"

Hiro snorts, the other boys snickering amongst themselves now. This isn't how it was supposed to go, he'd worked everything out and now instead of getting the information with a few knocks for his troubles Kokichi is being betrayed by his own bullshit and ego.

He's in way over his head.

The laughing intensifies as Hiro grabs his face again, forcing Kokichi to meet his eyes again, and Kokichi is much less resistant this time.  He'll find a way out of this, he has to. Maybe if he just plays along as a defeated victim he can end it soon. Just give them what they want and pretend to himself that the tears are fake.

"You egged us on for a reason, right?" Cigarette smoke is blown into his face and makes the tears stronger. At least now he can blame them on that. "You're even more of a pervert than your old man! You keep making us do stuff like this to you because you get off on it, don't you?" Cold fingers slip just under the side of his boxers’ elastic and he shudders against the touch, unable to control it. Hiro must be enjoying his just as much as the boy holding him, because the warmth grows exponentially.

Kokichi lets out another gasp that approaches a genuine sob. He's not sure if this is him _acting_ defeated and humiliated anymore but he wants it to be over already.

"And if you don't, well," The blond's face is far too close to his ear now, hissing his own words back at him as the same cold hand starts pulling down his last defence against the half-curious half-gleeful looks of his tormentors.  He's never going to live this down, this will ruin him either way. "How about you go back on your whole 'not begging me to stop' thing you were so set on earlier?" There's more pulling and Kokichi catches the sound of a phone camera, more than one going off but can't see anyone else past the sheer lust in the words of the boy in front of him, offset by anger.

Kokichi keeps piling on the nonchalance as the underwear is pulled off entirely, his grin wavering again but still wide. Another pulse of heat and satisfaction from the boys holding him and Kokichi’s own tidal wave of anger and indignation is nowhere near enough to offset the strength of the arousal of the two people that are getting off on his humiliation. The way he’s being held makes it impossible for him to move enough to hide his unwanted erection. “So this is gonna be like a get well soon gift for your boyfriend, h-huh? You sure he’s gonna appreciate you ch-cheating on him with a prettier model?”

There must have been some kind of signal to the large boy holding him because Kokichi finds himself on the floor, sore arms taking the brunt of the fall. The lack of skin contact lets his mind clear for a moment, the haze of a need that isn’t his own trickling from his mind and body. He recovers as quickly as he can, eyes scanning the floor, not finding his remaining clothing anywhere nearby, noting as well that two of the goons must have left because he’s only outnumbered five to one now. It’s still far too many. Hiro won’t go much further, right? This would be enough for any normal bully, and he knows that Hiro is just trying to fill in for his ‘boss’. There’s no way he’d extend a beating into worse assault.

“I think the boss will forgive me for this, hell, maybe he’ll wanna get in on a sequel, right, everybody?” More sickening snickering that Kokichi can barely hear over the pounding of his own heart, his close to hysterical breathing.

No way.

Kokichi can see the intent in front of him and still he doesn’t believe it until he genuinely hears the sound of a zipper. There’s more sounds of phone cameras being switched into video mode and is done, dam finally breaking. He can’t play the confident and arrogant school trickster that nobody dares genuinely cross for fear of retribution anymore. He doesn’t care about how he looks right now, even this far is enough, can’t go any further. He cringes away but is stopped by a renewed grip to his hair, the contact coming back to drag a noise somewhere between a moan and a sob out of his throat. The disgusting rush of want that had started to flag out of fear slams back into him all in one with the touch, pulling more real tears and hiccups with it.

“Okay, _okay! Stop!_ You can stop now, y…you’ve won - I won’t do anything else okay? I won’t even come back to school! I’ll bu-I’ll burn all the information I have on all of you, the flash drive is in my locker I’ll get it for you if you want!” His face is pulled closer towards a body and tries bracing his arms against it, only to have them pulled back again behind him by Yamashita – the boy he’d been calling Thing One all this time has a horrifyingly fitting name. Kokichi may as well be pleading to a real mountain for all the good it’s doing. “I won’t ask any more questions, I’ll be done if you stop right now, okay?” The pleading is doing nothing but driving the nauseating lust inside the two holding him further and Kokichi can feel something leak from his achingly hard cock that makes him shudder again. There’s a sentence he can hear from outside the torrent in his head, something that sounds like a command to get ‘everything on the screen, don’t get my fucking face in this okay?’ before his head is yanked a little closer to something warm and sticky and twitching and Kokichi relents the last of his pride to scream a series of no’s and please’s and other words he can’t keep track of.

The screams must have been too loud, too likely to draw attention and as he’s gagged with something that can be Hiro’s dick his mind blanks completely, stopping his struggles all at once as he freezes. There’s laughing, more laughing mixed in with more sobbed noises of pleasure and more camera noises. He tries fading back into himself, the same place inside him he used to hide as a child when his mother found out about her husband’s infidelity and would take it out on their apartment and belongings and sometimes him. It works for a brief time until something else shifts, the heat building up again, the movements into his mouth and throat starting to feel echoed elsewhere, on his own body. It doesn’t make sense and yet it does, it’s easier to focus on that than anything around him, or on him, continuing to move his head back and forth even as the hands relent their grip in his hair. It’s much easier to try to focus on the twisted feedback loop of pleasure that he’s getting from this than the noises of more laughing and more zips and just goes with it, losing himself entirely.

He doesn’t think anymore of ways to escape or how any of this will look.

He’s not capable of thinking anything anymore.

There are flashes of his head and body being moved, being made to grasp onto something and move hands that are probably his in certain ways, of some kind of liquid filling his mouth and having it slammed shut to make him swallow it along with blood from a bitten tongue. The more people touch him, the less of him there is, completely adrift in other people’s physical sensations and emotions. There’s too many of them and not enough of him to even consider fighting it.

He’s not sure how long it goes on until it’s over with a sudden lack of any sensation, feeling cold as he’s shoved to the floor like the used toy he is right now. There’s an intensified knocking at the locked door which must have had Kokichi’s captors startled into fleeing, especially now they’ve gotten more than what they wanted. He hears the external door at the back slam shut through a haze that’s only just starting to fade.

More banging, and a noise that sounds like the door has been kicked strongly enough to break the lock makes him flinch. More people is the exact thing Kokichi doesn’t need right now, but there’s only enough energy left in him to haul himself closer to the nearest corner and slump back into a ball on the floor. He’ll just pray whoever it is doesn’t notice him and leaves quickly. There’s fluids covering his hair and face and hands and he wants to peel all of his skin off and leave it in a pile on the floor next to him so he can be clean.

“Hey, c’mon, you assholes! I told you fuckers I’d be waiting for my smokes back _with interest_ and you don’t even have the decency to meet me at the ga-” Kokichi is unluckier than ever before, the local ‘hero’ delinquent himself deciding to grace the shower room in search for stolen cigarettes and spotting him instead. Magenta-purple eyes flicker with something akin to concern as Kaito Momota comes close enough for Kokichi to see the boy’s split lip. Probably wasted his time getting into another fight, and some small part of Kokichi that is still capable of laughter, however hysterical, starts up as he imagines what it would have been like if Momota hadn’t been distracted by his own need to knock the shit out of anyone who looks at him the wrong way. If he’d come to the shower rooms however long ago, maybe something entirely different would have happened.

The boy with the ridiculous hair calms his own face, moving over slowly to almost touching distance of Kokichi and squats enough to look him in the eyes. Kokichi almost how Momota’s eyes only look over his body once, keeping his gaze on his face, evenly. “You, er, okay?” He laughs awkwardly, the asshole, and scratches at his goatee almost nervously. “Well, no offence, you don’t look okay, but you know what I’m trying to say, right?” Kokichi does nothing but continue to glare emptily as Momota offers a hand to help him up. “I’m not gonna ask any questions but if there’s anyone that needs seeing to, just let me know okay?”

Kokichi slaps away the hand viciously enough to wipe away the helpful smile Momota was trying to give. The boy simply shrugs and stands up properly, running a hand through his hair. “Fair enough.” A jacket, Momota’s, is thrown at Kokichi’s shivering form with little fanfare. “Go shower off or whatever will help. I’ll go get some spare gym kit for you and leave it by the showers. See you around, Ouma.”

It takes a few more minutes for Kokichi to drag himself to his feet and to the showers, collapsing against the wall as the water runs over his body. It’s cold but he prefers it that way. He’s had enough of warmth and sticky heat for a long time. He’ll figure everything out later, he tells himself. He just needs to get clean and dry enough to get home without questions from his mother.

When he emerges almost an hour later, he finds some poor fool’s stolen gym clothing and shoes that are almost the right size folded neatly on the outside. He pulls them on after drying, not looking at himself and spots something flutter to the ground. Kokichi picks it up with crinkled eyebrows and stares at a somewhat familiar business card, black and white in equal halves and nothing but a phone number on in red.

He wants to think it was worth it.

It’s not.

 


End file.
